The Bloodshade Encounters & The Songspinner (Shadeborn Book 2) (17 page)

Wars Between Wolves

They were not the Wohlgamuth clan: that much was clear from the way that they dressed. Salem first had occasion to notice this when he was ripped from the taxi by a leather-gloved hand that held him at the mouth. Whoever they were, they had knowledge of his skills, but he had never laid eyes on this pack before. They dressed in a style that would have passed for an Eastern-European travelling circus, looking like wealthy bohemians, or tinkers that had walked right off of a London catwalk and into the murky yard. The only thing Salem definitely recognised about them were their deep, black eyes, that bore down on him from all directions.

Salem was the kind of man who kept track of the full moon, and he knew that this night was not one where the wolves all around him could transform into the terrifying, gargantuan beasts that he had, thankfully, rarely ever seen. But that didn’t mean that he and Sienna were safe by any means. If they were anything like the Wohlgamuths, then this clan could cannibalise them even in their humans forms or, worse still, lock them up to learn their scent, then let them run on the moon night whilst they prepared for a lively hunt.

He didn’t know what would happen if a wolf tried to turn a shade with the bite and frankly, he wasn’t keen to find out. There had to be a way to get his mouth free, for a few bars of some old melody would see every creature in the vicinity ready to do his bidding. The firm hand clamping his jaw shut was all that stood in his way. The man who held Salem dragged him through the crowd of onlookers as the shade twisted and turned in his grip. He caught sight of Sienna behind him, being carried by two tall women as she kicked and screamed for her freedom. Their clawed hands were manicured beautifully, ruby red nails sinking into Sienna’s golden skin.

Salem soon found that the leather glove was removed from his assailant’s hand and promptly stuffed into his mouth, held firmly in place with someone else’s neckerchief. The knot was pulling at Salem’s dark hair at the back of his head. He tried a little shade gravity to pull it, but all he did was give himself a headache. He had no kind of precision for undoing knots, much less under the pressure of choking on leather and being surrounded from all angles by those soulless onyx eyes.

Salem and Sienna were dumped in the centre of the pack, the night sky bearing down on them in its heavy midnight blackness. This truly was the Witching Hour, even Salem could feel it. Sienna crawled up to him and held his shoulders, as if she expected him to do something against what must have been a crowd of at least fifty wolfkind by then. Salem stayed in his spot on the cold yard floor, wishing he could ask her to undo the bonds around his mouth.

“What do we have the shade for?” asked one of the tall women who had carried Sienna. She had long, sharp teeth hiding between her crimson lips.

“He will act as witness,” a man replied, “to the rise of a new wolf power in the City of London.”

He was a dark skinned man with sunken eyes, dressed in scarlet and brown. There was something of a musketeer about his look, mixed with leather and no small amount of silver adornments to his clothes. Even amid the chaos of his kidnap, Salem took the time to notice that the silver buttons and fasteners were the genuine article. Something else he could use, if only he had the chance.

“All of you!” The finely-dressed man called to his followers. “Hear me. The Mayberry clan has fought hard for its heritage.” His accent was thick and fierce as he crooned to his crowd. “We were pushed out of Romania, Slovakia, Poland and Ukraine, only to find that London ought to have been our home all along. Here, the Wohlgamuth Wolves have grown weak and… diplomatic.”

He spat the word out like it was filthy to him. Others in the clan pulled hideous faces in agreement.

“They would use this Pritchard girl as ransom to access the potioneers’ magic!” he cried, pointing back at Sienna with a sharp, dark finger. “But we have already raided their stores! And her death will be a testament to her family’s ingenuity!”

A repeated cry erupted in the crowd, the wolves’ fists rising to pump the air. It took Salem a moment to make out the word, realising it had to be the name of their leader.

“Balthazar! Balthazar! Balthazar!”

Balthazar Mayberry. It was a name Salem thought he ought to try and remember, assuming he ever got out of the situation alive. He felt Sienna cowering beside him, her tears soaking into his shirt at the shoulder. Balthazar had promised her death, and Salem was to bear witness. He reasoned bitterly that death by magic was actually the most preferable way to go in a situation such as this.

But that, of course, depended on the magic itself.

Balthazar was presented with an ornate box that looked as though it was older even than Salem. He put a huge hand into the box and retrieved a spherical, glowing object that Salem initially mistook for a crystal ball. It was only when Balthazar turned it right side up that the shade noticed the ball was actually a spherical bottle, filled with some sort of silver gas that swirled and flashed with white. It jostled with its own energy in the wolf-leader’s dark palm, as though whatever lay within was dying to get out.

“The Pritchards’ greatest invention,” he mused with a fierce, growling whisper. “Tell me, shademan, do you know what it is?”

He spun and crouched in front of Salem, sloshing the contents of the bottle against his bound cheek. The shade saw the shining, swirling matter. He did feel as though there was something familiar about it. Sienna whimpered at his back.

“Do you know them?” she whispered. “Please Salem, if you know them, make them stop.”

He could do little but choke on the leather glove in reply. If she had thought for a second to try and untie his bond, then they might have stood a chance, assuming none of the surrounding wolves snapped her neck for the attempt to free his mouth.

“This,” Balthazar continued, offering Sienna a mock-sympathetic frown, “is Living Moonlight. Moonlight for everyday use, for casting spells that you would normally have to wait until the full moon to perform. The Pritchards have made a fortune from it on the national market this month. It’s hot off the press, as the English would say.”

Salem connected the dots. This was what Fen and his cronies would have been after too. A kind of magic that simulated the effects of a full moon. It was only then that Salem realised how Sienna was going to die. It was fortune that she was too distressed to understand Balthazar’s meaning, though Salem was sure it would all become horrifically clear to her, once the wolf man opened that bottle.

“Prepare the space,” the leader commanded.

Salem was dragged backwards, gathering with the other wolves in a clump against the far wall of the yard, which he could now see was a salvage heap. Sienna was up on her unsteady feet as soon as the wolves were out of her proximity, looking behind her at the tall stacks of metal scrap at the far end of the space. The walls all around were solid brick and far too high to climb, but it didn’t stop her survival instincts from kicking in. She ran anyway, bolting for the farthest wall, veering towards the tallest scrap pile like she was going to try and climb it. Clever girl, Salem reasoned, except that she didn’t comprehend the power of what was coming to chase her down.

Balthazar opened the bottle. Living Moonlight was surprising tame within the sphere, only a few weak tendrils of silvery gas escaped its funnelled lid as the wolf-leader eyed it with avarice. He took the vial to his dark lips and inhaled the gas. Salem watched with horror as it seeped into every part of his face, entering and flowing through his lips, nose, ears and even his eye sockets. The man’s black eyes rolled back as his body stiffened at the gas’s effect. He fell to the floor like a stone.

For one wonderful moment, Salem was sure that he was dead. Some of the other members of the Mayberry clan were sure of it too, for they moved forward and peered into Balthazar’s reactionless face. One such person was the ruby-nailed woman, who had carried Sienna from the taxi. She put her face close to Balthazar’s, her head turned to one side as she listened intently over his lips.

A fur-coated hand rose. There was a snap. The woman fell to the ground, her crimson lips parted as her head bent back at an ungodly angle from her shoulders.

The transformation was faster than by natural moonlight. Before Salem could really take it in, Balthazar’s whole frame was lifted as deep, thick fur exploded from his skin. His fine clothes burst at the seams and collapsed into a heap. As the others watched him, transfixed, Salem tried to reach up inconspicuously to untie his choking bond. A firm, sharp-nailed hand rested on his shoulder to let him know that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, he was forced to continue to watch as the wolf grew from where the man had once stood.

Balthazar’s fur was as black as his eyes by the time it was through sprouting. The only part of him discernible in the darkness was his row of long, white canine teeth. His jaws snapped with a powerful, echoing clamp. Sienna screamed from her distant perch. She was halfway up the salvage pile, but now she had deigned to look back and see the beast that was preparing to give chase. Salem could see her helpless, wailing mouth, even from that length of space that separated them.

The wolf took off towards her, galloping at lightning speed and sleek as a summer breeze. As the huge foreboding creature neared her, Salem closed his eyes. He had done nothing to prevent this, though he could not have known that another clan of wolves would have entered the game. That pitiful excuse was all he would have to console himself with when Sienna’s screaming ended.

Except that it didn’t end. It was joined in chorus by a volley of other shouts and cries. Salem was certain when he looked up that he was about to see the delightful sight of the Pritchard Potioneers, coming to Sienna’s rescue with an arsenal of magic to beat back the Mayberry beast. What he saw instead was no less dreadful than the beast itself.

“Kill it boys!” cried Fen Wohlgamuth as he vaulted over the huge wall.

The court of the wolf-king of London had come out to play.

Truth

The Mayberry pack were thundering out across the yard to save their leader. The giant black beast had been set upon by at least twenty figures that had been flung over the wall, who were climbing on top of its furry haunches to pin it down. Knives were drawn that caught the faint moonlight as they slashed and hacked at Balthazar. Salem saw the taxi lying abandoned ahead of him, and he knew he had a shot at survival during the madness. This was his chance to escape.

He ripped the bond from his mouth and forced the glove out, choking and gasping as he ran towards the empty vehicle. His mind was oxygen-starved from the gag, and his feet weren’t quite moving in the straight line that he wanted them to as he ambled on, quickening his pace. Salem hoped dearly that none of the wolves had spotted him so far, because his throat was so desperately dry that he was certain he did not yet have the saliva to use his silver tongue to stop their attacks.

That was the exact moment that a wolf chose to turn her head. It was the other woman who had been carrying Sienna, who was so similar in appearance to the first that she could have been the sister of the one who lay dead beside Balthazar’s discarded clothes. Salem was running straight for that pile of death and fabric as the taxi lay directly beyond the heap. The wolf woman pursued him, gaining speed on the choking shade as he limped on, willing his feet to do what he wished them to. When he realised that his adversary was going to be far quicker than him, Salem changed tack sharply.

He rolled when he hit the body of the other woman on the floor, grabbing for Balthazar’s clothes as he did so. The shade stayed coiled in a ball on the ground, listening to the furious growl of his approaching attacker. With a sharp pull, he ripped a handful of Balthazar’s silver buttons from his scarlet over-shirt. He met the wolf woman full-force, staring into her open, snarling jaws as she tried to bite him. It was exactly the attack he had been hoping she would use.

Salem thrust the silver buttons straight into her snarling mouth, narrowly avoiding her snapping jaw as he took hold of her head and clamped her mouth shut. The woman screamed within her closed lips, flailing desperately against Salem as she tried to scratch him with her talon-like fingers. He kept out of her reach, wrestling with her in the headlock, until the screaming ceased. She collapsed to the ground, agonised and weak from the pain of the silver object so close to her flesh.

The shade was grateful when he collapsed into the front of the taxi, slamming the doors shut behind him and feeling for the key. The Mayberry clan were so sure of themselves that they’d been stupid enough to leave it sitting in the ignition. Salem was not a masterful driver by any standards, preferring, as most shades did, to travel by window. But he knew enough to get the metal beast going, revving its engine as he slammed his foot down on the pedal.

The car was facing the fray between the salvage piles and Salem couldn’t help but see the carnage that was occurring. Balthazar had broken free of many of Fen’s men, but he was moving as if badly wounded, snapping and guarding the pile of metal behind him as a dragon would guard a stack of gold. Salem’s eyes looked to the pile, where Sienna was still very much alive and clinging to its tip for dear life. It was only from his distant vantage point that Salem could see Fen Wohlgamuth climbing the unguarded rear of the stack, growing ever closer to the Australian beauty defending her life on high.

Salem floored the accelerator, his hands fixed on the wheel as the car drove straight into the carnage ahead. There was a brief chance here for him to save his own skin and Sienna’s, so long as he didn’t hang about. It was time to see what damage a Hackney carriage could do if he rammed it straight into a pack of supernatural beasts. As the fight drew closer, the sound of the engine caught the attention of many of the brawlers, who tried in vain to clear themselves from its path without being bested by their opponents. Salem found that his eyes closed instinctively as the first thump hit the front of the car.

He was stuck for a moment, a body trapped under his wheel, until the shade found the car’s reverse gear and pulled back, turning the taxi just in time to career into the wolf itself. Balthazar’s empty, black eyes stared into the windshield as his face and snarling jaws smashed against it. Salem jumped back, shocked by the sound of one of the rear doors opening. He twisted in his seat to see a pleading, sobbing pair of sea-green eyes, widening at him in panic.

“Drive Salem! Drive!” Sienna barked.

Salem reversed again, but not fast enough, for a moment later the passenger door in the driver’s seat itself was being flung open. The huge, hairy form of Fen Wohlgamuth got in, addressed first by a sudden scream from Sienna. Salem kept driving, trying to turn the car and look for the yard’s exit at the same time. He could only hope that Fen was more interested in using Salem to make his escape than taking revenge on him for breaking their deal.

“Salem!” Sienna screamed. “He’s one of them! Push him out of the car!”

The men ignored her, and Fen’s dark gaze was searching for their exit.

“There!” he pointed with a gnarled finger, highlighting a space where two double wooden doors were bolted shut. The faint streetlights of London glowed from beyond them, interspersed with the red, green and amber flashes of the traffic lights.

Salem slammed his foot hard on the pedal again and the taxi went screeching forward, just as the thump of angry fists could be heard hitting its boot. The shade closed his eyes again as the car smashed through the wooden doors, feeling Fen take the wheel as he swerved the cab out of harm’s way.

“You idiot!” he yelled at Salem. “Open your damn eyes, man, or we’re all dead anyway!”

Salem did as he was told, driving at speed through several red lights until he was sure that the wolves from the salvage yard were not in pursuit. Fen forced him to pull the car over on a dark, deserted pavement in a small alley. The wolf king glanced back at Sienna, who sat curled in the corner of the cab with a look of fear frozen in place on her beautiful face. Salem spared her a sad, guilty glance.

“What happened?” Fen growled, “You were supposed to be bringing her to me, Cross.”

Sienna’s face slowly began to change. Her mouth dropped open, teeth still chattering as she let one accusing finger rise in Salem’s direction. He was suddenly very glad that there was a pane of safety glass between the driver’s seat and where she was leaning forward in the passenger section. Her furious breath steamed up the panel.

“You know these
things
?” Sienna growled. “You were delivering me to them?”

“They weren’t going to hurt you,” Salem pleaded.

“Well,” Fen said, shrugging rather unhelpfully, “We might have roughed her up a bit, just for effect you know.” Salem glared at him, but the wolf continued regardless of the look. “Of course, that’s all useless now that the Mayberry clan already has the serum we were looking for. Damned Europeans. No, the girl’s no use to me now Salem, you can have her back. Do what you want with her.”

Fen waved a sharp-nailed hand with nonchalance, kicking open the taxi door and climbing out of the passenger side. He leaned back in at the window when he had closed it, giving the shade a canine grin.

“Thanks for the lift out of that mess,” he said with a wink.

“Please, don’t mention it,” Salem replied flatly, “At all.”

Sienna sat in the back, watching the window fervently until Fen was definitely out of sight. It wasn’t until the wolf was long gone that she broke the tense silence between herself and the shade in the driver’s seat.

“You’re not human either, are you?” Sienna asked him.

“I’m closer to it than those things,” Salem replied.

“Then why couldn’t you do anything?” she challenged, facing him through the glass pane. “Why didn’t you have some brilliant ability ready to save us with?”

Salem was almost tempted to sing right there and then, to show Sienna exactly what he could have done if Balthazar’s servants hadn’t gagged and choked his power out of him. But what good would it have done to show her his gift, all too late? He could tell by the glare of abject hatred in her eyes that things between them were irrevocably changed. He turned back to the steering wheel, resting his elbows on it as he stared out into the night.

“I got you out, didn’t I?” he said.

“After you’d put me there!” Sienna accused. “It was hardly a selfless act, Salem.”

“And you really didn’t know what your family do for a living?” Salem asked her bitterly.

“No!” Sienna replied, her childish whine belying her age. “When my uncle told me I couldn’t go into his offices, he said it was because he worked for the government. Boy, am I going to have words with him when I get back.”

She folded her arms, her sigh coming out in stunted breaths. The panic of the situation had not left her body yet, but Salem could feel his own limbs growing heavy and drained as his adrenaline faded away.

“There’s one last thing you can do before you get out of my life forever, Salem,” Sienna began. “Take me home.”

Salem started the taxi once more, the weight of his own rotten luck pressing hard on his mind as he drove through the London night.